Seaside Death in Scotland

Chapter 1

After what felt like an eternity in the car, Jamie Sinclair stepped onto the pavement and stretched his spine.

The air was cold. Was it fresher than London, or was he just romanticising life in a quaint town by the sea?

He inhaled deeply. The air was definitely different in Scotland.

Crisper and with a slight tang of salt that had him itching to get into the house and check out the promised sea view before the daylight faded completely.

For now, he heaved his suitcase from the boot and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

A security light clicked on as he stepped onto the short front path.

Leaving his case in front of the door he moved to the side of the house.

A blue van blocked the driveway in front of the freestanding garage – the company logo swirled on the side of it, but he was too intent on finding the key to look closely.

He’d have plenty of time to investigate it later, since it would be his to use for the next two months.

Between the house and the garage, the key safe was secured to the drainpipe bracket.

He checked his messages for the code and set off back to the blue front door with the key in his hand.

Pausing, his gaze went to the ceramic name plaque at the side of the door.

He lingered on the hand-painted lettering which read Sea Haven.

The faded blue words stirred something in Jamie. The house name felt like a promise.

He shook his head. The long drive had obviously made him tired and sentimental. Focusing, he shifted the key in his fingers, and opened the door.

“Hello,” he said to the black cat who appeared at the end of the hall as soon as he switched on the light.

“You must be Misty.” Hastily he dragged his case in and closed the door behind him.

The homeowner, Moira, had said the cat generally had no interest in going outside, but it would be just his luck to lose her moments after arriving.

It was an odd feeling – letting himself into someone else’s home.

Much as he was happy he didn’t have to worry about making small talk at the end of a long day, it would definitely have felt less like trespassing if Moira had been there to greet him and show him around.

He poked his head into a cosy living room with a well-worn couch and matching armchair pointing at a decent-sized flat-screen TV.

A selection of cushions and blankets gave it a homely feel, as did the framed photographs on the walls and shelves – an array of unfamiliar faces that made him feel even more like an intruder.

The sound of the cat meowing got his attention and he bent to stroke Misty but she darted away down the hall.

“It’s okay,” he said, unsure how to reassure the cat that he was supposed to be there.

He glanced up the blue-carpeted stairs as he passed, then opened the door under them and found a toilet and sink. At the back of the house, he stepped into a large, slightly dated kitchen. The most striking feature was the solid oak table which fitted perfectly into the bay window.

“Wow,” he whispered, stopping in his tracks. The beach was so close it felt like part of the room. Instinctively, he opened the window to let in the sound of the waves easing onto the shore. A cool breeze drifted in and the screech of a seagull had his lips twitching to a gentle smile.

There was that sense of peace again – the one that he’d been craving since he first saw the advert for a house-sit by the sea, and which he’d felt on the final stretch of his drive today, when the roadworks had finally given way to rolling fields and occasional glimpses of the North Sea.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking his reverie. He winced slightly at his girlfriend’s name on the screen.

“I only just arrived!” he said, on the defensive as soon as he put the phone to his ear.

“Why did it take so long?”

“It’s almost four hundred miles from London to North Berwick,” he pointed out. “There were roadworks, and traffic. I stopped a few times for breaks.”

“You promised you’d call the moment you got there.”

“I walked through the door about one minute ago!”

“I’ve been panicking. I messaged you earlier and you didn’t reply.”

He stifled a grin as he sank onto the window seat. “You gave me strict instructions not to use my phone while driving. It was in the glove box the entire way, as per your instructions.”

It was always satisfying to use her own instructions against her, and her momentary silence added to his smugness.

She sighed heavily. “If you’d let me track your phone, you’d save me a lot of worrying.”

“Don’t start that again,” he said lightly. “You know my thoughts on couples who track each other’s phones. It reeks of trust issues.”

“Or of someone who doesn’t want their partner to know what they’re up to.”

He grinned at her cheeky tone. Most of the time, he was a pushover when it came to Violet, but he’d put his foot down over the tracking issue, and had no intention of changing his mind.

“Anyway,” she said, moving the conversation on. “How is it there? I still can’t believe you took a house-sitting job. And in Scotland.”

He was still getting his head around it too. The job advert had popped up on social media a few weeks ago, and he’d immediately been drawn to it. Having quit a job he hated a couple of months before, he’d been half-heartedly searching for something else in IT.

Living in a house by the sea for a couple of months while the owner was in New Zealand felt like a good way to put off his inevitable return to the corporate world.

“I’m only surprised no one else had snapped up the gig before I did,” he said. It had sounded too good to be true and Violet had been convinced there was probably something dodgy about it.

“Why were you even targeted for that job?” Violet mused. “It’s so random. Why not find someone local instead of advertising it in London?”

He’d asked Moira Campbell the same question when he’d spoken to her on a video call. Violet already knew the answer but apparently they were having the conversation again.

“She had plenty of people interested in house-sitting. It was finding someone to take on the business she’d struggled with. That’s why she had to look further afield.”

“That’s odd too,” Violet said. “You work in IT. Moving into the handyman business is a strange sidestep.”

“Are you currently sitting in that lovely new kitchen I just installed for us?” he asked pointedly. He knew she would be since it was now her favourite room in the flat.

“Maybe.” He could imagine her twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger while smiling coyly. “I’m not saying you’re not good at DIY, just that I never imagined you doing it for a living.”

“It’s only for a couple of months, and Moira assured me it’s nothing too taxing. I can manage most repairs and renovations, though. Go and look at your freshly tiled bathroom!” He’d been pretty busy during his little career break and the flat was looking good for it.

“I’m not doubting your skills,” she said through a gentle laugh.

“Andy used to take me along to jobs with him,” he said wistfully. “He’d call me his apprentice.”

Violet’s hum was filled with sympathy. His stepdad had passed away six months ago.

“That was always our thing,” he said. “When Mum and he first got together, that’s what we bonded over – me helping with his building jobs.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“Anyway,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I think me seeing the advert was fate. It’s brought me back to my roots.”

“Here we go.” She chuckled. “Are you about to try and convince me you’re Scottish again?”

“I am! I might have grown up in London, but my mum was Scottish and my biological dad too.”

“Sorry,” Violet said. “But you have a London accent. And you just don’t look like a Scotsman.”

He pulled his chin in. “What exactly does a Scotsman look like?”

“Like . . .” Her voice was tinged with amusement. “Bigger, I guess.”

“I don’t think all Scottish men are kilted giants tossing trees around,” Jamie said. “And I’m not exactly small. I’m almost six foot.” He sighed and shook his head. “You watch too much Outlander, that’s your problem.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to watch too much Outlander,” she argued playfully. Then her tone changed. “Why are we even talking about this? I want to hear about the house. What’s it like? Is it really by the sea or have you been conned?”

“I haven’t been conned.” His gaze drifted out of the window again. He definitely hadn’t been deceived about the view – if anything, Moira had undersold it.

“Tell me all about it then.”

“The view is unbelievable. There’s a little garden at the back of the house – it’s a bit overgrown, but at the end of the garden are wooden steps that go straight down onto the beach.” He could hardly believe his eyes as he stared out. “The beach goes on forever.”

“That sounds like a slight exaggeration.”

“Maybe not forever, but as far as I can see. And there’s not a soul on it.” He squinted. “No, wait, there’s a man and his dog. But it’s just incredible – all wild and strewn with rocks and seaweed.” He turned and looked in the other direction. “There’s a little harbour, I think.”

“I want to see it,” she said, her pout evident in her tone. “Can we switch to video and you can show me?”

After a few taps on the screen her cheerful face beamed at him, her hair tied back and her soft features slightly weary after a long day at the office.

“Show me the beach,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Dutifully, he turned the phone around then tried to keep it still, which was difficult since he couldn’t help but laugh at Violet barking instructions.

“I can’t see very clearly,” she said finally, “but it looks great. Can you give me a tour of the house?”

He turned the phone back around to look at her. “I haven’t been around it myself yet.”

“Perfect. We can look at it together.” She tilted her head, peering behind him. “The kitchen looks nice and big.”

Nodding, he drifted across the room to stand in front of the fridge. “It’s so strange being in someone else’s house,” he mused, trailing his gaze over a piece of paper held against the door by a lobster fridge magnet. “That’s weird.”

“What is? I can’t see what you’re looking at.”

“There’s a paper on the fridge with names on it. And words down the side and some sort of scoring system. Like they’re in the middle of a game.”

Violet scrunched her nose up. “What?”

“Moira,” he said, reading the names on the fridge. “Emma, Skye and Cal. That’s the name of her friend whose number Moira left for me in case I have any problems.”

“Jamie!” She rolled her eyes impatiently. “Stop reading notes on the fridge and show me the house!”

“Okay.” He set off back the way he’d come, down the hallway and into the living room. Violet made him show her Moira in one of the photos.

Here, she looked younger. When he’d spoken to her on a video call he’d guessed she was around sixty, but she still had the fiery red hair as in the photograph. She stood with her arm around a young woman in police uniform, both of them grinning at the camera.

“I want to see upstairs,” Jamie said, wandering out of the living room. At the bottom of the stairs, he homed in on a pile of business cards on a small table. The groan came involuntarily.

“What’s wrong?” Violet asked.

Ignoring her, he picked up a card for a closer look.

“Nothing,” he finally said, but he couldn’t help the sigh that slipped out.

“Jamie! What is it?”

“Moira’s business cards,” he said wearily.

“What about them?”

He hesitated, deferring the inevitable teasing. “Moira didn’t tell me the business name,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s The Handy Lass.”

Violet snorted a laugh.

“There’s a tagline too,” he said, reading from the card. “Want it done properly? Ask a woman.”

“That’s so cute!” Violet said.

“So embarrassing, more like.”

“Do you have to say all that when you answer the phone?” Violet teased.

“Shut up!” Setting the card down, he started up the stairs, glancing at Violet and quirking his lip at the mocking in her eyes.

Upstairs, he moved the phone around to show her the layout. He walked into the large bathroom at the front, then the bedroom beside it.

“Moira said I should use one of the bedrooms at the back,” he said, moving that way. Presumably, the room where the door was standing open and which looked like a guest room.

“Hold the phone still,” Violet said. “Now move it slowly around the room.” She waited while he did as instructed, checking that she could see the bed with its oak frame which matched the floorboards.

He showed her the wardrobe and chest of drawers.

“Go to the window. Is it a sea view in here as well?”

“Yeah.” He wandered to stand beside the desk, tucked into the bay window which offered the same view as downstairs, but arguably better, given the height advantage. “It’s incredible,” he said. “Can you see the sunset?”

“It looks pretty dark to me,” she said.

“There are dusty pink stripes at the horizon. And there are lots of islands dotted out in the water.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad it’s all working out so far. Listen, I’m going to have to go. I have a few things to do before bed and you’ll be wanting to unpack.”

He nodded and smiled at her image on the screen. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah. I’ll message you in the morning.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared from the screen.

Jamie stayed where he was, mesmerised by the last of the daylight which caught the tips of gentle waves to create a twinkling effect on the water.

He jumped when the black cat sprang up onto the desk in front of him. When he ran a hand over her head, his fingers caught on her purple collar and he lifted the small silver tag which was engraved with her name on one side and a phone number on the other.

He sank onto the chair and spent a moment enjoying the quiet of the house and watching the soothing back and forth of the waves brushing on the shore.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” he whispered to Misty, who stared curiously back at him.